Home for Christmas
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl AU. Short. When a freak snowstorm shuts Georgia down on Christmas Eve, strangers, each in their own way, are confronted by the meaning of Christmas Spirit and goodwill toward men. They're reminded of the magic of childhood beliefs that anything can happen on a snowy Christmas Eve.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So this idea came from a very detailed prompt on Tumblr that was given by** **fandomlifetookmyhandandsaidrun** **. I'm taking a little poetic license with it and making a few changes to what was requested, but I hope it still turns out to be something they can enjoy.**

 **I hope you all enjoy it too.**

 **It's AU and it'll be a little OOC in places, perhaps, but it's simply a nice story written for the sake of entertainment. I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Every Georgia resident that had been dreaming of a real white Christmas was pinching themselves right now. It was something of a freak snow. The weather channel alternated between calling a potential "crisis" in an area that wasn't equipped to handle it and wasn't prepared to deal with it, and calling it a "Christmas miracle". By Christmas Eve it was steadily falling—large and beautiful snowflakes that didn't even appear to be real were drifting toward the ground quickly enough to obscure someone's vision—and by Christmas morning it was expected to be deep enough to land most people inside for at least a week if the weather didn't warm up.

Carol wanted to stay inside, like some of the wise and knowing whether people suggested, but Sophia was supposed to sing that night and she had her heart set on it. She'd been practicing for over a month, dedicated to the little choir practices at the church more than she'd been to any of the passing hobbies that she'd taken up to drop shortly after, and Carol hated to break her heart by telling her that the same snow she'd been hoping for would be the snow that took away another thing she wanted.

She was too young and too accustomed to the fact that life could be filled with disappointment.

So Carol had loaded her daughter into the car and she'd set off for the church. They were going to be late. Carol didn't know how to drive in the snow. Her windshield wipers could buy her some visibility, but they could do nothing for the blurred surroundings around her that were brought on by the falling snow and the tricks that the sun played as it was dropping down for the evening. Her car didn't seem to know how to handle the snow either. She held, stiffly, to the steering wheel and tried to will it not to slide and slip as it hit patches on the road that her eyes had missed but her tires had found. They were going to be late because carol couldn't bring herself to drive even fast enough for the pin on the speedometer to seem like it wasn't struggling to register something.

But getting there late and alive was better than getting there on time and prepared for their own funerals.

"Mama! It's too late! They already started!" Sophia whined from the back seat, her eyes glued on the clock on the dash. Carol glanced back, assured herself that the girl was buckled and simply whining from her spot instead of slipping out of the seatbelt like she sometimes did, and then she glued her eyes back on the road. Around her there were a few cars that she'd told Sophia were "parked" alongside the road or in the ditches. She didn't want to end up "parking" in a similar fashion.

"Sophia, we don't even know how many people are going to be there, sweetheart," Carol said. "The weather's really bad and a lot of people probably just stayed home."

"It's Christmas Eve," Sophia pointed out. "They have to be there."

Carol hummed.

"They'll celebrate from home," Carol assured her daughter. "And we'll get there, but I want you to understand that there might not be too many people."

Carol heard the sound of Sophia sitting forward and bringing her body roughly back toward the seat in frustration as she checked the time again.

"Mama—I don't think we're going to be there," Sophia pointed out.

Carol didn't want to tell her daughter that every muscle she had was tense and every nerve on end because she feared she might fail at the simple task of driving her car and injure them both. She laughed, nervously, instead.

"We'll be there," Carol said. "At this rate? We might be there all night."

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Daryl's teeth were actually chattering beyond his control by the time he made it to the church. At the moment, it appeared to be the only public building even open in all the miles that he'd walked. By the time he reached it, he felt like he was moving forward, almost dragging his feet, in the fashion of Frankenstein's monster and not at all like anything that anyone wanted to encounter on a Christmas Eve.

If he'd been smart, he would have put the run off. He would have called the company, explained the weather, begged an extension, and taken the pay cut. At least begging the extension, though it would cost he and his brother some business, would have possibly been something the company forgave eventually and would have reminded them that they were a small, family owned, trucking business—and that was the reason they'd wanted to go with them in the first place.

But Daryl had wanted to do good on his word to get the load out for them. Yes, they could deliver before Christmas. Yes, they were still running despite the holidays. Yes, Dixon's Trucking could come through for them.

Except Daryl hadn't counted on the snow. He hadn't counted on the fact that the truck—bought second hand because that's really all they could afford until this business actually took off, and this run wouldn't be likely to be the one that got them really going places—would finally just shit out on him trying to handle his new driving pattern in the weather. He hadn't counted that it would break down, practically roll over and die with four tires up in the air, and leave him on the side of the highway outside some forsaken and forgotten sleepy town. And he hadn't counted on the fact that his usually questionable radio communication would go out entirely and leave him with no way to let his brother, or the company, know that the run was indefinitely delayed and their shipment was being refrigerated by Mother Nature.

His only hope was to try to find a phone and, if he was lucky, to find somewhere to keep from freezing to death. The snow, although pretty enough to look at, didn't exactly inspire the thoughts of "walking through a winter wonderland" that he'd heard about so much. It was falling fast and it seemed to get in his eyes as he walked. It stung against his cheeks and it melted the moment it touched it. He was as soggy as if it had been lightly raining the whole time he was in it, but he was cold and half frozen too because the air around him didn't warm when it touched him the way that the snowflakes did.

All of Georgia had gone comatose. People hid like the snow was acid snow and Daryl hadn't been able to find a single business open between here and the small stretch of highway where he left his truck to rest in peace. He'd considered going right up to someone's front door and knocking—in the spirit of good will toward men—but these days he knew that he was almost guaranteed to be turned away with the way that he looked at the moment. Worse, he might end up on the wrong end of a gun if someone wasn't feeling too brotherly with the quickly approaching holiday.

So the church, with half a dozen cars in the parking lot and a small and recently changed sign out front declaring that they were still "on" for the night, had been like a beacon of blessing in the quickly fading hours of dim light.

Maybe, after all, there were some Christmas miracles.

Drifting from the outside of the church, as Daryl mounted the brick steps, were the sounds of Christmas carols roughly sung by a small choir. The notes, even as they hit his ears through heavy doors, were almost painfully off key and sharp. But it wasn't about the music, he knew that. It wasn't about how it sounded. It was about how it _felt_.

He remembered his mother telling him that. Hearing a chorus of a familiar song—though it had been so many years since he'd sang it—drifting out to him in broken notes had immediately taken Daryl back to another cold Georgia night. There hadn't been snow then, but his child mind had told him that there could be. His child mind had told him that there _should_ be.

At the time, he'd been like every other child. The disappointments of Christmases past didn't bring down his spirit for the promise of the one to come. Before he was asleep, there were already visions of sugar plums dancing in his head. He could remember watching the sky, seeing the blinking and twinkling lights up there that weren't hidden at all by clouds promising snow, and he could remember wondering if one of them was Santa—and if Santa would find him that year. After all, he wasn't a perfect kid, but he was at least half as good as some of the kids he knew that got major hauls for Christmas—so he should get at least half as much.

He could remember the feeling of his mother's cold but soft hand wrapped around his. The other would be dragging Merle—probably by a sleeve since he'd declare he was too old to hold hands with anybody—right along with them as they headed for the church.

 _It wasn't about the way it sounded. It was about the way it felt. And tonight was a night of hope and love and brotherhood. Tonight was a night that dreams come true. It was a night for miracles. Those songs reminded them of everything that the night meant._

Daryl stepped into the church and stood shivering and shaking off the cold for a moment. His whole body quaked and he purposefully avoided the mirrors on the walls to avoid any chance of catching a glance of his probably ragged and rough appearance staring back at him. He looked around, but there were no phones in the entry area. Of course there weren't. They would be tucked away in some office somewhere while the outside appearance of the church did its best to remind visitors that, though it was a business, that wasn't the main view to take of such a location.

Daryl stepped into the main part of the church. The back of not even a dozen heads were visible to him. Up at the front, three adults stood with seven little kids and they sang. They sang the rough and wobbly notes to the songs that Daryl had heard while they were walking up.

Kids that were still living in the magic fairy land of a Christmas Eve when miracles could happen. Kids who still believed that this was a night when everyone loved everyone else. This was a night when we were all brothers—and all equals.

Kids that didn't know how much Daryl feared the reception he'd receive should one of the church goers look back and see him standing there—or how much judgment he feared he'd see on the face of the person he finally selected to ask for use of a phone.

 _The children were innocent. They didn't know of all these things. In their minds, it was all as it should be. It was Christmas Eve. It didn't matter at all how they sang the songs that they sang. They felt them. They meant them._

Several people in the congregation seemed to catch wind of Daryl's presence. They glanced back at him, stared even for a moment, and then turned back to look toward the front. They ignored the appearance of this soggy, dirty, unknown Christmas guest and returned their attention to the children singing songs about things that they'd long stopped believing in—at least really believing in.

And Daryl stood because he felt, in their quick stares, a little disdain that he was dirtying their carpet. He felt that it would be worse were he to go so far as to sit and cover one of their pews in filth.

One of the women got up, as the songs changed and there was some shuffling up front as the children rearranged themselves with the help of the adults. The woman walked to the front, stopped to say something to one of the singing girls, and then slipped through a side door to the belly of the church. That's where Daryl needed to be. That's where the phones were. That's what he needed and he could get out of here. He could stop ruining the sanctimony of their special night in their special place with his dirty presence.

Daryl walked as quietly as he could to the side of the church, stuck close to the wall, and walked down the side aisle to get to the door that the woman had slipped out of. He followed her, though she was far ahead of him, and looked for an office—he hoped it would be open. One call to Merle and he could go outside. He could wait somewhere until Merle drove the probably three hours to pick him up. He didn't care about the cold. Not now. It was nicer to feel cold and alone than cold and surrounded by people he figured would deny him their heat if they were given the chance.

While looking for an office, Daryl stopped paying attention to his surroundings. As a result, he was surprised when he looked up and realized he was face to face with the woman who had slipped out. He let out a noise of surprise and she echoed it. Then she laughed nervously. It was his surprise that had surprised her.

She offered him a wad of paper towels.

"You're soaked to the bone," she said.

Daryl took the paper towels and stared at them. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with them. Being handed paper towels made him think of cleaning the floor, but he wasn't certain that's what she wanted him to do, even if he wouldn't be surprised if it were.

"I'm sorry—I couldn't find a towel," the woman said apologetically.

Daryl realized they were for him. He mopped at his face and muttered a quiet thanks for her kindness—the greatest he'd been shown all night.

"I'm Carol," the woman offered. "And you're not from around here."

Daryl hummed.

"Daryl. Don't even know where here is to be honest," Daryl said. "Truck broke down on the highway. Everything's shut up tight. Just—looking for a phone."

"You walked all the way from the highway?" The woman asked.

Daryl hummed.

"So—there's a phone here?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled.

"There's a phone," she said. "But lines have been down for a couple of hours. With as quickly as they do things around here? And with the snow? I'd say they'll be down until at least tomorrow. Maybe later."

Daryl muttered a curse before he caught himself. He felt his cheeks grow warm and he mentally apologized to his mother. Though she had no problems with cursing in general—even if such words didn't belong in the mouths of sweet little boys—she'd have skinned him alive for daring to mutter a single one inside a church.

As soon as he'd mentally apologized to his mother, he apologized to Carol and she forgave him on the spot for his transgression.

"Did you wreck?" She asked. "Are you—hurt?"

Daryl hummed and shook his head. 

"Trucker," he said. She stared at him. It didn't explain a thing to her and it was clear on her face. Daryl chuckled to himself. "I can drive in anything," he said. "My truck—she weren't in good condition. She couldn't handle the snow, even if I could."

Carol hummed like she understood. Whether or not she did, Daryl didn't know.

"Nothing to be done," Daryl said. "If they ain't no phones, they ain't none."

"I have a cell phone," Carol said. She shook her head. "Towers are still up. The reception wasn't the best earlier but—it's something."

Daryl stared at her a moment, wished he knew what to do with the soggy paper towels, and then he dared to speak again.

"You sure you don't mind?" He asked.

Carol shook her head.

"There's nothing to mind," she said. "But—I don't have it with me. It's in my purse? In the pew. Why don't you—come and sit? Warm up? My daughter's got the last solo of the night. I've got to get back in there for that. She'd be—heartbroken—if I didn't hear her. And I'm sure she'd appreciate the extra audience member? You can sit with me. Then—you can use the phone?"

Daryl felt a little uncomfortable. He didn't know this woman and she was being kinder to him than he ever expected. But he needed the phone. And he wouldn't be entirely opposed to the company and the chance to warm up before he was cast back out into the cold to wait on Merle—who could hopefully navigate the weather and make it to him.

Finally, he nodded and thanked Carol.

"I'd appreciate it," he said. "And—I'll make it up to you."

Carol laughed quietly.

"It's already been made up," she said. "I hate sitting alone. And when Sophia sings—I sit alone. Consider it—a gift _exchange_."

Daryl laughed ironically to himself, but he followed her, soggy paper towels in hand, back the way that he'd come through the maze of church halls and back out into the sanctuary to sit and listen to the children sing the songs that they still believed.

 _Though the slightly tingling warmth that he felt, at the moment, Daryl wasn't entirely sure he could only attribute to the central heating of the quiet little church._

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 **AN: So there will be at least a chapter more, maybe two, depending on how it goes while I'm typing the rest out. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here we go, the second installation. One more to go.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol had been terrified to hand her keys over to a complete stranger. She'd been terrified to give him the ability, whether directly or indirectly, to have control over her life and the life of her daughter. If he wasn't as good as driving as he said he was, then he might very well run them off the road. Worse than that, he might run them into a pole. And even worse than that? He might hit someone else and then they went, but they took someone else with them.

Even when she'd buckled herself into the passenger seat, she'd asked herself why it was that she'd done it. Why had she trusted him? Why had she believed that he hadn't been in a wreck—even though he didn't look injured at all, simply damp and tired—and that his truck had merely broken down? Why did she trust his ability more than her own?

But in the end, he'd been true to what he'd said. He'd driven Carol and Sophia, just as he'd promised, to her house and done so safely.

They hadn't reached his brother. He'd called three times, but either his brother wasn't around or the call wasn't going through. He'd left a message, left Carol's number, and they'd waited together in the entry to the church for a returned call, but it had never come.

Sophia, like every child, was growing restless to get home. For a child that fought bedtime with everything she had, she repeated over and over the details of her exhaustion and her need to go to bed. She whined about the minutes that slipped past them and reminded Carol that she was growing and needed her sleep. Carol had pushed her to wait until everyone had gone, but when it was finally time to lock the church doors, Carol had to admit that they couldn't stay any longer. She wasn't going to force her daughter to stand out in the snow, or even sit in the car, on a night like this—and she wasn't going to leave a stranger to the elements and to the hope that somehow his brother found him once she took the phone from him and left him without any communication beyond any telepathic tendencies he might possess.

She'd invited him to her home to wait, offered to wait up with him for his brother and Santa, and she'd trusted—perhaps blindly—that the Christmas Spirit would somehow guarantee this wasn't a bad decision.

Carol was almost self-conscious about her home as she followed Sophia up the little walkway from where they parked the car. She'd put up decorations, but as a single mother, she hadn't really gone as far "out there" as some of the neighbors had. She didn't have the same money and time as they did. Sophia, completely unmoved by Daryl's presence, had skipped up the walkway and had waited patiently for Carol to unlock the door. Without being told, she'd headed directly toward the bathroom to start getting ready for bed and Carol had called after that she'd be on her way.

"Make yourself comfortable?" Carol offered.

Daryl looked around her living room.

"I—uh—do you got a towel? I don't wanna—sit on your furniture," he explained.

Carol realized, suddenly, that she'd forgotten that, though he'd dried out a good deal, he was possibly still damp. He probably didn't feel that great—nobody would after being cold and wet and walking a few miles in all of it—and maybe she wasn't being that great of a host.

And if she was going to be a host, she really should be a good one.

"Would you like to shower?" She asked. "I've got some clothes—they were just going to Goodwill, but I haven't gotten—I still haven't gotten around to taking them."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Clothes for—me?" He asked.

Carol felt her cheeks burn hot. It probably didn't sound good. It probably sounded much worse than it was. She didn't know him, but likewise he didn't know her either.

"My husband's," Carol explained. Daryl made a face and looked around again like he expected to see Ed materialize out of thin air or come from some other room. She shook her head at him. That would be a trick if it happened, but not necessarily one that she wanted to see. "He passed away about five years ago," Carol explained. "When Sophia was just..." she gestured toward the floor to indicate the height of her two year old at the time.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said.

"Don't be," Carol responded, but she didn't bother to explain.

It was Christmas Eve and she didn't want to think about those things. She didn't want to think about the man that she'd hoped would be everything she wanted out of life. She didn't want to think about the life that she'd dreamed they'd have together—the life they might have had if he hadn't been such a fan of drinking when it wasn't a big fan of him. It had ruined their marriage, it had ruined their relationship in all ways, and it had, eventually, cost him his life.

But she didn't want to think about that. Because it was Christmas Eve.

"I'll show you the bathroom," Carol said. "You can at least clean up. I'll keep an ear out for the phone."

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Daryl wasn't quite sure what was happening or why Carol, who didn't know him from Adam, was being so kind to him, but he was appreciative of it. He'd left a few messages for Merle, but he feared that something was happening on Merle's end. Though his brother wasn't always the most reliable person in the world, he generally stayed clear headed and close to the phone when Daryl was out—especially in weather like this.

Merle wasn't wholly reliable at all times, but it was important, he could always be depended on.

There was a chance that he was just as concerned about not being able to contact Daryl. But at this point, Daryl would just have to wait it out. There didn't seem to be much that he could do. The truck wasn't going anywhere and, as far as he could tell, neither was he until Georgia got over the shock of their sudden and unexpected deep freeze.

At least he wasn't waiting alone, outside, in some parking lot for someone to take mercy on him.

He showered quickly but thoroughly in the clean little bathroom that Carol had showed him to. By the time he shut the water off, she'd apparently slipped in and left him a towel and some folded clothes. For a moment, it made him feel self-conscious and he wondered if she'd seen anything, but he had to trust that the shower door had done its job and that, maybe, she simply hadn't tried to look.

Daryl dried off, dressed in the slightly oversized clothes that smelled like laundry detergent, and combed his fingers through his hair. He felt a strange tightening of gratitude in his chest for her charity and he determined, even if he didn't know how, to come up with a way to make things up to the woman.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he almost ran into her in her hallway. She padded past him in pajamas and sock feet and held a finger up to her lips to beg his silence. He quietly followed her back into her living room where she apparently felt free to speak.

"Are you hungry?" She asked. "Thirsty?"

Daryl simply stared at her. He didn't want to ask for anything because it already felt like he'd taken too much from her.

"Did my brother call?" Daryl asked.

Carol frowned slightly and shook her head.

"No," she said. "In fact—I'm not sure that everything's even working fine on my end. He might've tried to call and I'm not getting messages either."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his understanding.

"I know," Carol said, "that it's no consolation. And I know that—you'd rather be home with your family for Christmas, but—you're welcome to stay here for the night. There's a guest bedroom. And—you're welcome to try your brother again tomorrow. Everything's going to be closed, but maybe we could figure something out?"

Daryl nodded.

"You don't owe me none of this," he said.

Carol shook her head.

"Maybe we shouldn't always do things just because we're supposed to do them," she said. "Or we have to. I want you to stay. Nobody should be alone on Christmas."

Daryl nodded and thanked her quietly.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Daryl said. "Don't wanna—put you out none."

Carol shook her head.

"Sophia's sleeping with me, and that guest bedroom hasn't been used in years," Carol said. "You're not putting me out."

Before Daryl could respond, the lights flashed around them. Off for a second. Then back on. Then off again. With something of a "thump", Daryl heard the sound of the heating in the house giving up and going dead. They were left in almost complete darkness.

Carol made something of a gasping sound, surprised by the failure of the power, and Daryl instinctively reached a hand out and touched her on the arm—a gesture that he was there, even if it was no grand consolation.

"Power's out," he said, laughing to himself at the ridiculous sound of his own words.

"Candles," Carol said. "I've got—candles—but...damn it I should've put that emergency kit together."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Never think about the damn emergency kits until there's an emergency," he commented. "Same thing happened to me looking for the thing in the truck."

Carol walked off from him, bumping around in the darkness, and Daryl stayed where he was for a moment. She knew the layout of her home better than he did. She would be able to navigate it in the dark without breaking toes and knocking things over. She fumbled for some time, opening and closing drawers as far as Daryl could tell and seeking out their contents with her fingertips, before the small flame of a lighter brought some light to the space and then the candle it lit brought a little more. Carol went, lighting a few candles with the candle that she'd already lit, until the room was lit up in a warm and flickering light. She gestured to Daryl to relax on the couch—unless he was ready to retire, which he wasn't—and then she took one of the candles with her to add a blanket to her daughter's bed.

When she returned, she came carrying the candle and a quilt.

"I've got an extra," she said, raising the quilt to show Daryl what she was referring to. "You can take it to bed when you go but—I thought we might use it? Until then?"

Daryl didn't fully comprehend what she was saying until she sat down on the couch next to him and offered him a corner of the quilt.

Being next to her like this was strange. Daryl was uncomfortable with women. He just never knew what to say to them or how to act around them. His brother had always made him believe that they were very nearly a different species entirely and somewhere that had stuck in his mind. He'd only ever truly been close to his mother, but she'd died when he was young and therefore even her memory was very different than the women he saw around him now that he was grown. He'd simply done his best to avoid women, when at all possible, and either as a cause or a result, he found them unnerving.

But he didn't find Carol unnerving. In fact, he felt oddly as comfortable with her as if he'd known her for a lifetime.

Even though there was a strange catch in his chest when she somewhat snuggled into him, bringing the blanket up to her chin, he didn't say anything. And she didn't say anything when he timidly brought his arm from the back of the couch to rest over her shoulder. She simply lifted her head to allow it to fit there more comfortably and readjusted herself to fit in next to him—a perfect fit.

"Is this OK?" Carol asked. "You want me to move?"

She was already beginning to move in the moment that it struck her that he might not be as comfortable with sharing a couch, a blanket, and almost the same cushion with her. But—surprisingly enough—he was quite comfortable with it. And when she started to move, he became flustered because he realized just how much he didn't want her to move.

For as comfortable as she made him feel at the moment—almost to the point that he could forget the snow and the lost power and the broken down truck and his misplaced brother—he liked that he made her obviously feel comfortable.

"No," he said quickly, but that just made her pull away more until he finally caught her shoulder with his hand and pulled her toward him. "No—I mean...it's fine. You don't gotta move." He nearly choked on the sudden rush of nerves that overtook him and he offered out the only stupid thing that his mind gave him to say at the moment. "Stay warm this way."

They wouldn't have frozen to death anyway. And he would have given her the blanket if she moved. But he couldn't reason all of that out right now. He could only feel how hot he suddenly felt. His face felt sunburned despite the fact some of the chill was creeping into the house.

She snuggled back into her spot, though.

"I hate the power's out," Carol said. "But—I love the candles. It just feels like—Christmas."

Daryl hummed, not able to do much more, and very grateful that she'd forgiven him entirely for his faux pas.

"Kind of romantic," Carol said. She hummed. "You—wanna screw around?"

Daryl froze and felt the muscles in his body stiffen and tense all on their own. Carol leaned up enough to turn and look at him. She smiled and the smile slowly crawled across her features. He hadn't realized, in the church while he was frozen and worried, how pretty she was. He noticed it now—and it didn't help his nerves one bit.

"Pfffftt..." was the only sound that he was even able to make, dismissing the statement now that it was clear that she was joking. Or, at least, he thought that she was joking.

She laughed quietly and settled back into her spot.

And, thankfully, she didn't say anything else that might make him end up putting his foot in his mouth. She didn't say anything, actually. She simply sat next to him, wrapped in the blanket that was almost making it too hot to keep sitting there, and they both watched the candles flicker around them as the minutes of Christmas Eve marched slowly on toward Christmas Day.

Daryl thought the silence was as comfortable as her presence. He enjoyed it more than he would have expected. He enjoyed it probably more than he had any reason to.

And she must have enjoyed it too, because the next time that he moved a little to adjust limbs that were going numb, he realized that she'd fallen asleep. Suddenly, it didn't seem that important to adjust to himself. She was sleeping. Everything else might as well be too.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here we go, the last part of it.**

 **I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol was ripped out of her sleep by Sophia shouting at her that it was time to get up. Santa had come. It was Christmas. It was the most exciting day of the year, only closely followed by Sophia's birthday, and Carol was going to sleep right through it. After all—it was probably almost time for the sun to come up.

As soon as Carol came into her senses a little and rolled over to declare to her daughter, who had already been up to see the gifts that Carol had put out—tucked tightly in the corner with the tree to look like Santa wanted it to be something Sophia had to search for, but really just to keep her from noticing them immediately if she should walking into the room— while Sophia was still falling asleep and Daryl had been showering, that she was getting up, Carol was struck by a strange panic.

She'd forgotten entirely about Daryl being there. She'd fallen asleep—she couldn't even remember getting up to go to bed—and she had slept like she hadn't slept in years. She was completely unaware of the passing of the night before and she'd meant to be at least a little on guard while a man that she didn't really know, even if she felt like she did, slept in the house with her and her daughter.

But Sophia was fine, and she wasn't reporting that half of their stuff was missing, so things must be fine. Still, Carol silently scolded herself for her negligence as she got out of bed and padded down the hallway toward the living room.

Daryl was awake, but it appeared that he'd slept on the couch. He was half wrapped in the blanket that Carol had brought for him the night before and he was looking around with sleep lidded eyes.

"Merry Christmas," Carol offered.

He blinked at her.

"Merry Christmas," Daryl responded.

Sophia was already dragging her presents out from the corner of the tree and seemed entirely unconcerned with either of them or with anything else for that matter.

"Coffee?" Carol asked.

"Power's still off," Daryl said.

Carol was chilly, and she should've guessed there was no power, but she hadn't honestly paid it any attention.

"I've got instant," she said. "And the stove is gas. I can make breakfast too."

Daryl laughed quietly, his voice gravelly in the morning.

"Looks like we're all set then," Daryl said.

"Mama! Can I open my presents?" Sophia asked, somewhat whining. She already held in her lap one that she was intending to rip into first. Carol glanced at Daryl, who was looking at the girl like he was waiting to watch her dive into her presents, and then she looked back at Sophia.

"Just one," she said. "Until the coffee's ready. Then you can open the rest."

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Daryl sat on the couch and felt like he was trapped in a dream. Usually, Christmas with his brother consisted of the two of them waking up whenever that seemed to happen on its own. Breakfast, if Daryl was serving, was usually eggs and maybe some bacon. If Merle was serving, it had a good chance of being a beer or two. Then they watched television until someone decided it was time to take turns heating up the boxed dinners, and they watched television again until it seemed like a reasonable hour to go to bed.

Christmas, really, hadn't been Christmas for a long time. Not the Christmases that they remembered from their childhood. And certainly not the Christmases that they'd seen depicted on some of the movies they watched. In fact, those Christmases seemed, to Daryl, to only belong in the magical realm of picturesque Christmases that existed even less than those they sang about in carols.

Yet this morning, despite the chill of the house, they'd had breakfast and they'd sat and watched as Sophia—swept up in the childlike wonder of it all—had opened gifts and declared each one the best gift ever. By the second cup of coffee, Carol was opening boxes and cursing twist ties while she passed Daryl anything that she couldn't get open with the silent request that he'd cut into it with his pocket knife and free Sophia's treasures from their manufactured homes.

By the time the power came back on, they'd been happy for the warmth but had paid relatively little attention to anything else.

They'd almost missed the phone, entirely, when it had finally rang. Carol had answered it, but she'd quickly passed it to Daryl. Hearing Merle's voice over the phone, while he sat on some man's couch, who was long gone, wearing his clothes and enjoying what would have been his life, was almost surreal. Daryl explained to Merle, quickly and without going into too much detail what had happened. He explained the broken down truck, the arrival at the church and how, through an extreme amount of kindness, Carol had brought him to her home to pass the night. Then he'd given Merle the address that Carol recited to him and he'd hung up the phone, something inside him sinking at the knowledge that his brother was on his way—and he'd be there in two and a half hours.

"You gotta leave, Mr. Daryl?" Sophia asked, sitting near him on the floor. He picked up the toy he'd been wrestling out of the box and returned to trying to remove it, sinking his feelings into undoing more twist ties than one item should ever rightfully have wrapped around it.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Gotta—go. Gotta go home, ya know?"

The six or seven year old looked at him like she most certainly did not know what he was talking about. She did look concerned, though. And she looked to Carol, who was obviously better equipped at handling things, for some sort of clarification.

"Sweetheart, Daryl has a home," Carol said. "He has a family. He was just staying with us until—the weather got better and he can get home to them." Carol shook her head at her daughter. "You didn't think he was staying, did you?"

Sophia just looked a little more deeply concerned than she had. She looked back to Daryl and seemed to lose interest entirely in what she was doing at the moment with the doll in her lap. Daryl felt more unnerved and unnarmed at the moment than he normally did even with women. Women were bad enough, but he was learning that _small, tiny, ungrown_ women were worse.

"I think Santa said he left something else for you in the shed," Carol offered quickly, giving a much needed diversion. "You want to go and see what it is? See if—Daryl would you mind helping her? I could put something on for dinner."

She raised her eyebrows at Daryl with the request and he shook his head at her. Getting out of the house, no matter if there was a rabid raccoon in the shed, sounded nice right about now. The heat had come back on and, though he knew it really wasn't that hot, it suddenly felt stifling.

Sophia got up, forgetting her distraction for a moment, and ran toward her bedroom to get shoes or clothes or whatever else it might be that she needed. Daryl started to look around for his own shoes. As soon as the girl was gone, Carol spoke to him, but she kept her voice low.

"Thank you," she said. "For—being so nice to my daughter."

"Good kid," Daryl offered.

"She's not used to..." Carol broke off, though, and never told Daryl what Sophia wasn't used to. "There's a bike in the shed. I know she probably can't ride it because of the snow, but...it's got training wheels."

"Take her out front," Daryl offered. "To the street. She goes slow, she oughta be alright for a few minutes." He shrugged. "Enough to—know it's there."

Carol smiled softly at him and nodded.

"Enough to know it's there," she echoed.

She stood up, heading toward her kitchen. She was very likely going to do exactly what she'd said and put on the food for dinner. She stopped before she stepped through the threshold of the door, though.

"Daryl?" She asked.

He looked at her and hummed.

"You—and your brother. You'll stay for Christmas dinner?" Carol asked.

It almost didn't sound like a question and Daryl almost regarded it as fact. However, he thought better of it and shook his head.

"Don't wanna put you out no more," he said.

"You're not putting me out," Carol insisted. "I haven't—I love to cook Christmas dinner. My family? I used to—love the big Christmas dinners."

Daryl stared at her. This was a woman who had once believed, as much as so many other people did, that those Christmas movies were reality. Maybe, for her, they had once been reality. Even moreso than they were now.

"Please?" She asked. "You'd be doing me a favor...just dinner?"

Finally Daryl nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks—gonna...get that bike out now."

Carol smiled at him and nodded before she disappeared into the kitchen and Daryl found himself waiting for the little girl.

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When Merle had finally pulled up and parked his truck in Carol's driveway, he'd gotten out and not said a single word to Daryl. Daryl remained, for a moment, in the abandoned street and walked around and around with Sophia while she rode her bike in a very small circle so that he could push her when the snow built up around the training wheels and stopped her forward progress. Finally, he'd told her that the ride was over—and he had to put the bike up so it wouldn't rust—but she was doing great on it and could ride it a lot better, even, when the snow had melted. He'd sent her inside, and he'd taken the bike back to the shed with Merle—who'd gotten a happy shout of Merry Christmas from Sophia as she'd darted back for her house and to report to her mother all the details of her bike ride—following close behind him.

"What the hell happened to you last night?" Merle had asked. He hadn't even given Daryl time to explain that he didn't know what happened, but he was feeling pretty much like it had to be one of those so-called Christmas miracles because he felt about as good as he could remember ever feeling, before he'd launched into giving Daryl and ribbing him.

They'd hung around outside, in the cold, for a moment and smoked cigarettes around Merle's truck while Merle recounted for Daryl what had happened that morning when he'd called the company and let them know that their shipment was delayed. They'd been understanding—it was Christmas after all and these things happened—and they were going to give them another couple of days. Merle had found a truck that they could borrow from a friend, for the time being, and Daryl could finish the haul to get a paycheck before they had to get his truck finished. It was, as they spoke, being towed back to their home two and a half hours away.

Daryl knew he should be pleased about the job, and he was, but it wasn't where his mind was at the moment. In fact, the very thing that had brought him here had seemed like it was the farthest thing from his mind.

When Carol had called them both in for dinner, insisting that it wasn't the best but it was the best she could do on short notice, Daryl had taken the time to introduce her to his brother and to, quietly and to the side, warn his brother to be on his best behavior around the woman.

After all, she was kind and she deserved that. She deserved, in Daryl's opinion, a great number of things—but for now she'd have to settle for Merle's best behavior.

After dinner, Daryl had almost felt mournful as he'd said goodbye to Sophia. He'd gotten a hug from her, and another echo of a Merry Christmas, but when she'd asked him when he was coming back and he'd hadn't had anything to say, Carol had told her that was enough. And, apparently, Carol's comment was enough to send the girl rushing to her room.

Daryl had said his goodbyes, thanked Carol for the clothes and the food and the kindness. He'd thanked her for Christmas without wanting to be sappy enough to tell her it was the first Christmas he'd had in as long as he could remember, and Merle had thanked her too before he'd slipped out the door.

Aware that his brother was waiting on him just outside the door, and knowing that this was it—it was time for him to go, Daryl found his feet almost glued to the floor as he stood near the kitchen threshold and wrestled up his final goodbyes.

"Guess I—gotta be going now," Daryl said.

"Everything worked out with the truck," Carol said, the statement coming out like a cross between a question and a statement.

"Worked out," Daryl said with a quick nod of his head. "Gonna work out. Be finishing up the load starting tomorrow with a new truck. I'll get mine fixed with what we make."

"Maybe you should buy a new one?" Carol asked.

Daryl chuckled to himself.

"Don't make that much money," he said. "Not yet. We're just getting started good."

Carol nodded her understanding.

"If you ever break down again or—if you're just-passing through..." Carol said. Suddenly her face changed and a flush of color came to her cheeks. She extended her hand and put, into Daryl's, a piece of folded up paper. "Just in case," Carol said.

Daryl opened it enough to see that it was her number. He smiled at it and nodded.

"Give you mine," he offered.

She shook her head and offered him a soft smile.

"You'll give it to me," she said. "When you call me. If you...want me to have it."

Daryl swallowed.

"My phone's shit," he said. "Left it in the truck because it died and weren't nothing no way. Getting a new one—but—I'll call you." Her face changed again. Daryl realized that she didn't expect him to call her. She looked a little sorry over it, but not entirely surprised. "Hey," he said. "That's honest." She nodded and attempted to put on something of a smile that was clearly plastered there. "Call you first," he added. The smile was more genuine. "Thanks," he said. "Wish I could—come up with something to give you. Some way to—pay ya back."

Carol hummed at him and smiled.

"Well," she said, "if—you wanted—I'm standing under the mistletoe?"

She rolled her eyes upward toward a small ball of fake mistletoe that was pinned to the threshold between the kitchen and the living room. Daryl eyed it for a moment and swallowed. He wanted to kiss her, but he feared that he really wouldn't do that good of a job at it. He feared he might be bad enough at it that she'd tell him to leave and take her number back.

But more than that, he feared the disappointed look returning to her face that she'd worn earlier. He stepped forward and for a moment they created some sort of awkward dance while he tried to decide exactly how he was expected to kiss her. Finally, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and pulled him the last little bit toward her, finishing the kiss—soft and sweet—for him.

She smiled at him when he pulled away.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

Daryl smiled.

"Merry Christmas," he said. "Best one—I had in a while."

Carol looked pleased, but she hummed at him.

"First year I've gotten..." she broke off a minute, the color tinging her cheeks again. "Exactly what I wanted?" She added, almost seeming to ask him, as she had the night before when she'd snuggled into him, if it was too much.

He almost felt like he was choking at the moment, but he swallowed it down and smiled at her.

"Good Christmas," he said. "Maybe—not exactly what I wanted...but could be a start?"

She raised her eyebrows at him and he heard her suck in a breath. She let it out.

"You'd better get going," she said. "But—you have my number?"

Daryl hummed and held up the piece of paper to show her.

"Is it bad—that I'm already thinkin' I might break down on New Year's Eve?" Daryl asked, already starting toward the door.

Carol smiled at him, warmly, when he glanced at her over his shoulder, just as his hand touched the cold knob that would take him out the door to where his brother waited, smoking cigarettes.

"I'll have a cup ready," Carol said. "Should old acquaintance come to mind."


End file.
